One Step At A Time
by Stephy69
Summary: She's got a new life yet after the draft it appears her old one is more important to her. LitaxCM Punk LitaxRandy
1. The Old Times

**Title : One Step At A Time.   
Author : Stephy69   
Disclaimer : I own nothing but my plot.   
Notes : Storylines ignored. No Rated RKO ever existed. The draft goes how I see fit. Starts Sunday, June 10th.   
Pairings : Final pairings undecided. Lita/Randy, Lita/Punk, Maryse/Randy **

Enjoy... 

One Step At A Time

No matter how hard he had tried, how long he had lain in the dark thinking of her, how much he drank, or how many girls he slept with, she was always there. Right at the front of his mind. Telling him that he still loved her. Sometimes, he could get her right out of his mind, long enough to go to the nearest bar, get totally out of his mind on drink and cocaine and take the first brunette or blonde home. He never went for the red heads, too close to home. But, by the time he got them home, undressed and into bed, the drugs and drink had worn off and she was right there. Watching. Disapproving. He could never seem to shift the feeling that, if he wasn't such an idiot, she'd be the one, in his bed, naked, drunk. But he was. And she wasn't. It was nothing but some stupid whore, with her cheap underwear strewn across his floor, the disgusting smell of cigarettes emerging from her. He had heard it said, that ex smokers were always the first to complain about the smell of cigarettes. And, since Amy had forcefully made him give up, he had to admit, the smell of cigarettes on someone's breath irked him. It, in a very strange and somewhat ironic way, made him miss Amy. Yet each night, he found himself having sex with the same girl. Wishing she was the one he missed most.. 

But, in all honesty, no matter how much he tried to put the blame on her, he always came up with the same solution as to why they had broken up. "If only I hadn't"... Sometimes it was "if only I hadn't done cocaine." Others, he blamed the drink. And, on rare occasions, he blamed his "anger managerial issues", but truth be told, none of these had been the real reason they had broken up. The real reason wore a micro skirt and boob busting shirts and pranced around on Smackdown like she owned the place. The real reason, was Maryse Ouellet. To say he hadn't seen Maryse since the break up would have been an insult to both Amy's and his own intelligence. Maryse was what Randy liked to call, consolation. He didn't have Amy any more, so what was the problem in having what had broken them up? 

He lay in the large double bed, the sheets long since tugged away from him. He stared blankly up at the ceiling, his eyes following a thin crack, right along the ceiling. Amy had once pointed that crack out. Not at the most desirable of times, but that was Amy all over. Whether it was discussing Trish's latest conquest, detail by detail on loud speaker with Vickie over breakfast, or telling him that there was a crack in the ceiling during sex, she never really did things at appropriate times. Maybe that's why he had loved her. Her inability to realize when to shut up. Her forgetfulness. Her impeccable talent for walking into the male locker rooms just as the guys boxers were coming off. Her clumsiness. Most people found all that stuff irritating. He had always found it cute. But none of that seemed to matter anymore. He no longer had her. He had Maryse. Something that he was very proud of ? Not particularly. She wasn't the type of girl he liked. He didn't usually go for blondes. He didn't like particularly "girly" girls. He preferred the type of girl who would go paint-balling and when it was all over and done with, laugh at how many bruises she got. Maryse wasn't that type of girl. They rarely agreed on anything. And, to be honest, they barely spoke. If they weren't in bed, they were eating. And for that, he was grateful, due to the fact, her voice had come to aggravate him in a way no other ever had. 

He sighed, still staring at the crack in the ceiling. Tearing his eyes away from it, they fell upon the blonde next to him. For the past seven months, he had spent every night staring at Maryse, wondering why he had done what he had. He had once spent each night staring at the red head beside him, but for many different reasons. When he looked at Maryse, he saw nothing but a mistake. Something which never should have happened. Something which hurt him to even think about. Something that had killed one of the happiest divas spirit. But, even now, seeing a picture of Amy, he would smile. Not really thinking about how much he had hurt her. Because whenever he saw her, whether it be a picture or in the flesh, not that he had seen her since she had left the WWE six months ago, he still got that feeling. That, no matter where she was, or who she was with, he would still love her. Even if he had hurt her... 

Elsewhere, Amy's shoes dropped with a clatter to the floor as she kicked them off, throwing herself onto the bed beside her best friends, Patricia and Lisa, collapsing in a giggling heap. Patricia smiled, it had been a while since Amy had smiled. PROPERLY smiled. But since meeting Phil, it seemed that she was finally getting over Randy. Moving on from what that arrogant, low-life, son of a bitch had done to her. And finally, finding happiness. Both Amy and Phil had known each other for some time now, but since leaving the WWE, Amy had found herself drawn more and more to ECW. Using excuses such as, "I'm visiting friends." or "It's nearby", she would find herself visiting the ECW locker room week after week, regardless of where it was. And week after week, she would sit in Phil's locker room, getting to know him better. And, as the weeks progressed, she found herself falling in love with him. 

And now, here she was, officially an ECW diva, or vixen as it was now recognized. Both she and Patricia had decided to forget all about retirement and go back to their original shows. "Trish" being put on Smackdown, while "Lita" found herself as part of the ECW roster. That had always been more her thing. The idea of smacking someone senseless with a kendo stick was much more appealing than pudding matches and the like. But of course, the real appeal of ECW had been Phil, and on Monday night RAW the following night, the night of the three way draft, she would be making her first appearance as an Extremist. Luckily, she had not yet signed the deal, meaning she could not be drafted, and if, for example Phil was drafted to Smackdown, Amy could change her contract to join Smackdown rather than ECW although, if said circumstances should arise, Amy was pretty sure she'd stick to retirement. 

"I can't believe you two came back," Lisa smiled. "It's been so, depressing without you. I swear to god, I don't think any of those girls backstage have an IQ higher than their age. It's rather disturbing. And to hear some of them talk. I swear, on that photo shoot with Kristal and Maryse I thought I was..." She bit her lip, sighing. "I'm sorry Amy, I didn't mean to bring her up." 

"Why?" asked Amy, rolling her eyes and rubbing her toes gently. "She's just another whore in the pile. Not worth my troubles. So, as you were saying..." 

Lisa and Patricia raised an eyebrow each. Both highly doubted that Amy had meant what she said. Amy had cried her heart out each and every night for almost three months. She had truly loved Randy and had even at one point, discussed leaving the company to start a family. And look what she had gotten in return. A front row ticket to a video of her boyfriend sleeping with another woman. Everyone knew Randy had never been the brightest, but to video himself cheating, he must have been really drunk that night. Amy had always defended him. Even when they had broken up. Sure she had cried, hit him, called him many names. But not once did she tell him how she knew and never once did she let anyone say a word against him. Now Lisa, being the good friend, had always tried the, "He's nothing but an asshole and you can do better" speech, but each time she tried, Amy had taken a well aimed swing at her, resulting in many hours in make up to hide the bruises. 

But now, here she was, pretending that speaking about Maryse didn't bother her, when it quite obviously did. Amy frowned as her friends began to talk again. Sighing, she stood up, "I uh, I...I'mma go to bed. I'm tired." she said, pushing her long red hair from her eyes. It had been wrong of her to think she could ignore Randy and Maryse once she began wrestling again. And what if Randy got drafted to ECW? She could never manage to hold another storyline with him. And Vince knew that fine well. But, considering neither she nor Randy were high on Vince's Christmas card list, she found it quite probable that, should the legend killer arrive on Smackdown, that she would be put in a storyline with him. She frowned as she slid her shirt over her head, she knew that if she was put in an angle against him, it would involve hurting him, and now matter how easily he had found hurting her, she could never hurt him. Mainly because she doubted, if she started hitting him, that she would ever want to stop. She sighed, pushing the skirt she was wearing down past her hips, throwing it in a pile along with her top in the corner of the room. She was staying at Lisa's that night, both she and Patricia, due to the arena they were working at the following night being just an hours drive away. 

She stood almost motionless for well over a minute, just staring at the washing basket. She hadn't been to Lisa's house in a long time, meaning the clean washing had remained untouched. Neatly folded and ironed, in a basket, on the bed. There was nothing particularly amazing about it. To anyone else, the washing would have seemed so ordinary. So normal. Yet to Amy, one thing stood out. A neatly folded white shirt, placed in the middle of the pile. It did seem rather noticeable compared to her vibrant shirts, jeans and skimpy underwear. Her eyes were somewhat drawn to it. Tipping the contents of the basket onto the bed she picked the shirt out and sat staring at it. For the past few months, she hadn't thought about him once. Not once. Yet tonight, it seemed so hard not to. Perhaps it was the prospect of seeing him again. Perhaps knowing that, should Maryse get traded to ECW, she would have the opportunity to bash her around the head with a chair. Or maybe, just maybe, Amy had realized that Phil and Randy could end up on the same show. Whatever it was, it hurt. 

Hearing no sound coming from a usually rather clumsy Amy's room, Patricia and Lisa made their way upstairs. Amy never did anything quietly. She would drop plates on the floor in the kitchen, knock drawers over in her room, spill the washing in the back yard and curse vehemently at it and even manage to bring the shower curtain down in the shower, landing, tangled in the shower curtain with a thud. Not hearing any cursing, thuds or bumps, both girls found themselves standing, rather scared outside Amy's room. Tentatively pushing the door open, they sighed. Amy was sitting on the edge of the bed, a white shirt, much more Randy's size than her own, in her hand, wearing nothing but her underwear sobbing her heart out. 

Patricia sighed, sitting herself behind the red head. "Sweetheart, I told you it was too soon." She said, receiving only a muffled whine for a response. "But you have to take this slowly. One step at a time..." 


	2. Push or Shove

Randy sat on the edge of the bed. Half of him wanted to push Maryse out of the bed. Just like when you're a child and you want to pull the ribbons out of that annoying little girl's hair, just to see what she'll do. It was almost as though something in his head was telling him that if he pushed her, it would help him decide whether he should stay with her or not. If he pushed her, and she got mad, she wasn't for him. If he pushed her, and she stood up and kicked him in the groin, much like Amy had done, he would know she was the one. He paused as the thoughts came to the front of his mind. If she acted like Amy, then she was the one ? That made no sense. Why go for second best when he could have had the real thing? He frowned, because the real thing wouldn't ever take him back. It was seven am and Randy had barely slept at all the previous night. He had tossed and turned, heaving and sighing. It was no surprise that Amy was coming back that day. And it was not particularly surprising to him that she was now "dating" CM Punk. Phil Brooks...What an asshole. Thought Randy standing up, for a moment, he contemplated on fixing the covers, tucking Maryse in or just pushing her right out the bed. Slowly, he stood up, almost as though not to disturb her, but rather than walking to the en-suite, he found himself walking closer to Maryse's side of the bed. He reached over, placed a hand on her shoulder, and rolled her out the bed. Taking just a few steps, not many due to the length of his legs, he stepped into the en-suite and closed the door behind him. Whether she had reacted well or not, it didn't matter, cause after all, if he INTENTIONALLY wanted to push her out the bed, unlike the accidental incident with Amy, she really wasn't the one for him. 

Staring into the mirror he found himself asking a question that, he really hadn't contemplated before. What was it about him, that made him attractive? He stared for a few moments, it wasn't his hair. God no, it couldn't be. And if it was, those women CLEARLY hadn't seen him without straighteners. It could be his eyes. But it was rather pathetic to find someone so attractive purely based on their eye color. His nose pissed him off to no end, so naturally, that couldn't be it. And his lips were far too full and pouty. And as for his ears, they, quite frankly were his worst feature. He pushed himself back slightly, looking at his pecs and abs. He could understand why girls would like that. He smiled slightly knowing he had at least one feature he was proud of. He thought for a moment, before looking lower. Now, that wasn't a reason for girls to find him attractive. It was a bonus. And a rather impressive bonus. But not a reason. He sighed slightly, there was nothing pretty about Maryse. Or at least, nothing pretty about her when she had no make up on. Her disgustingly over blonde hair made her face look orange, even when wearing no make up, her ridiculously flat face looked so childlike and as for her body, without her pull in panties and wonder bra, she really wasn't anything special. But then again, even if she had the most amazing body in the world, it would never compare to Amy's. THAT was impressive. A lot of the guys backstage had said Amy was fat. She wasn't. She just, wasn't anorexic. She had a tiny bit of fat around her tummy and hips, but it was never really noticeable. She had amazing breasts. Again, guys backstage had questioned that, saying they were only amazing because they were fake. But Randy was sure they'd have been just as incredible without the implants.

He had found himself thinking more and more about her when he was with Maryse. A few times, he'd actually called Maryse by Amy's name. Not the BEST idea. And never at appropriate times, like when she was in front of fans, around her family, in bed┘Usually, those conversations would end with a rather angry Maryse crying and swearing at him in her native French. To be honest, those conversations had no effect whatsoever on Randy, but, in an attempt to make Amy jealous, he was keeping Maryse around, and she'd still be around that night. Just to flaunt her in front of Amy. Truth be told, he had not and never would move on. And no matter how much he tried, he just couldn't comprehend that she had. It, to describe the feelings, was as though someone had stepped on his heart the moment she walked out, and every day since, they had been twisting and turning their foot, making it hurt so much more.

Kicking the bin underneath the sink a little harder than he had intended, he decided maybe a shower was the best thing for him right now. A cold one. Stop him thinking about Amy. Not that it would work, but, anything was worth a shot these days.

Each one of Amy's bones ached as she tried to move out of the position she was currently held in. A best friend either side of her, one arm awkwardly wrapped round Patricia, Lisa lying on the other, their legs tangled in a less than comfortable position. Her throat was dry and her cheeks still felt wet, a tell tale sign that the night before had not been enjoyable. She sighed, slowly lifting her left arm from around Patricia, shaking it as she did so to get the blood flowing again on what seemed to be a dead arm. Pulling softly on her right arm, she unearthed it from beneath Lisa and her mass of pillows and after a good few minutes, she finally managed to climb out of the bed without disturbing the other two divas.

Making her way across the room, her bare feet padded against the plush white carpet. She liked this room. It felt more like home than her own room did. But then again, this room belonged to her and her only. Albeit under Lisa's roof, it was still her room. Unlike her own home. The home that was still registered under the name R. Orton, the mailbox that still received his letters, the bed that still smelled of Obsession by Calvin Klein, no matter how much she cleaned the linen. She walked across the hallway, glad of the cold wooden flooring to cool her feet, and into the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the bath tub as she began to run the hot water. Giggling to herself silently, she thought of the events of the previous night. It was most men's fantasy to have three WWE Diva's in the same bed, wearing nothing but their underwear, but it was hardly the same, given the circumstances. As the bath tub filled up, she added bubble bath, wondering where Patricia had put that white shirt. It would come in handy later that night.

After a long soak in the bath, Amy felt ready to take on the world but, as she made her way down stairs, she felt a sudden wave of nausea and rand to the bathroom. A few minutes later and she was in the kitchen with Lisa. "I am so sorry Amy. I should know better than to make sausages when you're in the house," Lisa apologized for the fifth time. Amy's eyes remained locked on the counter. Thank goodness, she thought to herself, rather scared of voicing her thoughts. I can't be doing with getting sick. Not now. Not tonight. That's the last thing I need.

She forced a smiled and nodded, "It's fine. I mean, I guess it's just the whole 'meat' thing, you know?" She said. A vegetarian and animal lover at heart, the smell of cooking meat had always made her feel rather queasy. "I mean, god, if meat should ever pass through these lips..." Lisa began to laugh childishly, a laugh which could easily hav been mistaken for a teenage girl after hearing a dirty joke. "Cooked meat, Lisa. Get your mind out of the gutter sweetie."

Patricia smiled walking down the long stair case, it was nice to see Amy could joke and smile after the night before. "you feeling better this morning?" the Canadian beauty asked, her long blonde hair scraped back from her face. Amy nodded slowly, the color slowly but surely returning to her cheeks. "And don't worry Amy, I'mma throw that shirt out now. Anything else of his you wanna bin?" Amy jumped from the stool she had been sitting on by the breakfast counter and ran, almost tripping over her own feet as she did so to Patricia, grabbing the shirt from her hands. "Amy, sweetie, you have to move on. You can't keep hurting yourself like that."

Amy frowned and shook her head, "It's not like that P. It's not me I'm hurting. It's him..."

**A/N : Short? Yes. Sorry. R&R and I'll try my best with the next one :)**


	3. The Loving Girlfriend

**Incredibly short little chapter. But I didnt want to add anything else :) Chapter four should be longer xD**

**R&R though; or there shall be no chapter 4**

As the time went on; and the day passed Randy's spent most of the day with his eyes focused on the clock. From two in the afternoon he sat counting down the hours until Raw. He wasn't sure whether he was counting down the hours until his match, until the chance to be moved to ECW and kick Phil's head in or until he got to see Amy. Whatever he was counting down for, it was making him feel quite sick. He had tried eating, it didn't work. For the first time in his life he didn't feel like eating. He had always been the type to eat non stop and not think twice about it. After all; he could work it off in the gym. But that particular day, even the sight of food made him feel sick. With another glance at the clock, he felt perspiration on his forehead and a lump rise in his throat. "Hurry up Rysee. Could you go any bloody slower? You're only going to Raw." It was five fifty. They had another hour and ten minutes to get to the arena and considering it was in walking distance, Randy had no real reason to be in a hurry.

"I'm going as fast as I can." said Maryse; her irritating accent ringing in Randy's ears, causing him to rub his temples, a sure fire sign that tonight would be more than eventful. He knew it was unfair of him to use Maryse like he did; but in his eyes it was only his way of trying to prove he had moved on. After another few minutes Maryse appeared at the end of the bed. She tried so hard whenever they went out. She would make sure she looked her best, do anything he wanted and yet, he barely noticed her.

"Arent you going to say anything?" she said; trying her best not to cry. She had spent so long getting ready, trying in vain to make him notice her yet here he was looking right through her.

"Um, yeah. Let's go." he said grabbing the keys to the rental car before walking out the door. As he stepped out into the hallway he turned to see Maryse rooted to the spot; a thin trail of mascara making its way down her cheek. "Oh for god's sake you look lovely. Now can you stop acting like a kid for FIVE minutes?" he barked; hating himself almost automatically. It wasn't her fault. Nothing ever was. But no matter what she did; how hard she tried, he was never going to love her so what was the point in pretending?

Dragging her feet slowly across the plush carpet, she made her way out of the room and continued walking until she reached the elevator. Pushing the button repeatedly; she sniffed loudly. "I'm sorry I'm not her." she said; her voice barely more than a whisper. But he heard. He turned to face the back of her head as he heard the door click; automatically locking itself.

"Who?" he asked; although if he was honest, although Maryse was blonde this was insulting even her intelligence.

Turning round to face him, a perfectly plucked eyebrow raised as she spoke, Maryse's face looked crumpled, defeated almost. "You know fine well who." She ran a few long, well manicured fingers through her shining blonde hair and shook her head as she did so. "You know, when I joined the WWE everyone said I was stupid for liking you. That you had just broken up with some hot shot diva. Never thought it would be that stupid cow. Actually, I shouldn't say things like that. She's not the one to blame. She's not the one that makes you do cruel things. And you know what; she's lucky you two broke up."

Her tears now steadily flowing from her blue eyes she flounced off, heading towards the stairs. Tears blinding her, she tripped, sending her to the bottom of the stairs, holding her neck. Randy instantly ran to her side. "I'm sorry Rysee. Really I am. But it's not your fault I say horrible stuff. I just, I love her. And I know I shouldn't use you like this but I swear after tonight me and you, we'll be ok. Whether we'll be together or not's yet to be seen, but I swear Rysee, I'm sorry."

Maryse raised an eyebrow once again; the pain in her neck almost unbearable. She paused for a moment obviously contemplating his offer. "Well," she said, speaking slowly and deliberately. "I'll play the loving girlfriend tonight. But I swear, if I end up on the same show as that crazy bitch. YOU are PAYING for my services. Cause I need some sort of benefits, after all, I'll need to save up for my funeral, thanks to her." She was laughing, rather uncertain of what Amy was like. After all; they had only met once or twice. A handful of times at most. But even on those rare occasions, she had found Amy to be one of the very few people she couldn't understand. Sometimes, she would seem like the nicest woman on earth, yet others she would look at you with such venom, such hatred that Maryse was quite scared.

"She's not a crazy bitch. And she won't KILL you. Maim you seriously perhaps, but not kill." he said, offering her his hand. Standing up a little unsteadily, she smiled as he wrapped his arm round her to help her walk. "So what do you mean; play the loving girlfriend?"

"Well," she began as they walked down the stairs, careful not to hurt her legs anymore than she already had.

After that night, though, things wouldn't be so perfect….


End file.
